Growing up and Other Completely Brainless Expeditions
by Imraldera
Summary: My sister Molly was all grown up, and it was completely unauthorized. And while we're on the subject of unauthorized things, Sherlock Holmes was the most unauthorized one of all.
1. Prologue

My sister was in love with Sherlock Holmes, and he was absolute rubbish. Especially his name. Sherlock Holmes is an eccentric name eccentric parents give to their eccentric child. My sister's name? Molly Hooper. Molly Hooper is a good, sensible name that good, sensible parents give to their good, sensible daughter. Maybe that's why Molly fell in love with him the first time she saw him.

She told me once that she was tired of being good and sensible. She was tired of being the responsible older sister that cut chewing gum out of her younger sister's hair and stayed home weekends and studied instead of going to parties. She wanted to be rebellious and clever and just for once be something other than Molly Hooper. I told her that was stupid and couldn't she please cut the gum out of my hair before Mum came home?

Molly cut the gum out because she was Molly. I'll bet that Sherlock Holmes would have studied chewing gum's rate of decay when tangled in human hair. I think I'll stick a piece in his hair the next time I see him and find out.

* * *

You might be wondering why I hate Sherlock Holmes so much. Well, I don't hate him. I just don't like him. But anyways, hating or just not liking him, there's a story behind it, I guess. The story starts when my older sister grew up.

I'm still not sure why she decided she had to grow up, because she used to have a lot more fun before she "grew up." Why does growing up mean that you can't run through the sprinklers or swing on the swingset anymore? Suddenly, everything was about school and homework and boys and there was never any time left for me. Sometimes we'd go see a film, or she'd take me to the park and "watch me play," but that was it. That was worse than nothing. At least when she was ignoring me, I could bounce on her bed and play with her makeup until she chased me out of her room and locked me out.

But when she was being nice to me, it was awful. I always told her I didn't appreciate being condescended to, even though I wasn't really sure what it meant. She'd just laugh and tell me I was too smart for my own good and I should write her papers for her. I'd say my school was already too hard, and she'd smile and shake her head knowingly, and I'd feel condescended to again.

The summer she was 18 and I was 9, Molly graduated, and she suddenly had time for me again. We'd go out for walks and buy snacks without permission and she'd have tea parties with me, and one time I even got her to swing on the swings with me. I probably should have realized that it was too good to be true, but I was so happy to have my sister back that I didn't think about it.

It must have been near the end of summer when I realized something was wrong. Molly was back to her old tricks of studying, and Mum was crying all the time. I even saw my Dad tear up once when he thought I wasn't watching, but I didn't tell him I saw. He didn't like it when people saw him cry. I asked Molly what it was all about, and she laughed. "You know why, silly. I'm leaving soon."

That's when my world came crashing down. I learned that Molly was going away to university all the way off in London so she could learn how to be a doctor for dead people, and no one had bothered to tell me because they'd all been pretending I already knew. Apparently I was supposed to be happy for Molly because not many people got the chance to be a doctor for dead people, but I wasn't. I was just angry that I was losing my sister again.

I didn't talk to her for the next three weeks while she went shopping for her new room in London and packed up her room at home, and I hid in the attic the day she left for university.

Dad was upset when he had to crawl all the way to the back of the attic and drag me out from behind a stack of boxes. Mum was crying yet again, but Molly was excited, the traitor. She hugged and kissed Mum and Dad goodbye, but when she tried to hug me, I ran upstairs and hid in the attic again. "Just give her some time," I heard Dad say when Molly asked about going after me. "She's got to learn to live with it." So they drove Molly to the station and she went away to university and left me behind.

Now after all that, you might still be wondering what any of this has to do with Sherlock Holmes. After all, he wasn't the reason Molly grew up, or the reason she left for London.

Well, the answer is simple: Sherlock isn't the reason Molly went to London, but he's the reason she stays there. I guess it's partly my fault, though. After all, it all started the time I ran away from home and a detective named Sherlock Holmes found me.


	2. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I don't own the Sherlock series or any of the characters. Except for the ones I make up. Those ones are mine._

_Also, I'm not British, so this is kind of just my best guess at life in England. My old friend Google has helped me fix most of the glaring errors, but some of it's probably still wrong. Gulp. _

* * *

When Molly left for London, the only part of it that wasn't horrible was that I got her old bedroom. Everything else was all, "Help wash the dishes, Emma. Molly's not here to do them anymore. Help your mother put away the groceries, Emma. Molly's not here to help her anymore. Go do your schoolwork, Emma. Molly's not going to do it for you anymore." Like she ever did any of that before. Now I just got saddled with all the work, and Molly got all the credit.

In case you hadn't picked it up already, I'm Emma. Emma Hooper. Thought you might like to know.

Anyways, if it sounds like my life was boring, then you're absolutely right. "Emma, stop making such a ruckus and do your homework!" "Emma, don't dump salt all over the roast or you'll ruin it!" "The science fair is coming up at your school, Emma? Remember when Molly won…?"

Needless to say, this all became very tiresome, so one day after school, I decided I deserved a break from the madness. Thus, I decided I would go to London to visit Molly.

I feel it only just to mention that this trip may have been slightly unannounced and/or unauthorized, but let the record show that I did leave a note for my parents, since it seemed to be the polite thing to do.

….However, I may have forgotten to take the note out of my notebook and leave it for my parents to see, resulting in the note making the trip to London with me by accident. Everyone always says it's the thought that counts, but they don't really mean it.

My ticket to London cost most of the birthday money I had saved up, but I figured once I was there I could borrow the rest from Molly for my ticket home. I assure you, it all made perfect sense at the time. I clearly had a plan in mind, and it wasn't a "completely brainless expedition" like my dad later said it was.

Thus, having consoled myself, I settled in for the trip. I'd been to London before, but never on my own, so it was all quite exciting. I envisioned myself arriving in London, the grand and elegant traveler. Molly would be waiting at the station for me, in awe of how grown up I was. Then we would have a marvellous weekend together, and I would be back home in time to be at school on Monday.

Unfortunately, my arrival at the London station wasn't quite as picturesque as I'd imagined. I had fallen asleep about halfway there, and awakened with just enough time to scramble off the train in the London station before it moved on. That was when I accidentally left my bag with all my clothes and money on the train. And once I was in the station, I also realized that Molly would not be waiting there for me, since I'd forgotten to inform her of my grand and very grown-up plan.

Unsure of what exactly I should do next, I left the station and wandered about the streets for a bit. I still had a little money left in my pocket, and briefly considered using it to find Molly, but... I was hungry. So, naturally, I decided to go buy something to eat. In retrospect, spending every last cent on some decadent, chocolatey concoction may not have been the best idea, but it seemed like the thing to do at the time.

Chocolate in hand, I sat down in the bakery to ponder my dilemma. The sensible thing to do would be to find the police, explain my problem, and be packed off home. However, for obvious reasons involving an irate mother and an unpleasant trip home, I quickly discarded this option. The only other option was to sit in this bakery and eat until I ran out of money. This seemed like a perfectly sound plan, so I sat and watched people go by the shop window, while I ate more chocolate than I usually was allowed in a week.

I had just popped the last bite into my mouth when the bell over the door jangled and a young man in a long, dark coat entered into the shop. He quickly glanced around the shop before his gaze settled on me. "Emma Hooper?" he asked.

I swallowed uncomfortably before mumbling "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers" through a mouthful of chocolate.

"Nor are you supposed to run away from home, but you don't seem to care. And I'm not a stranger." The door burst open and Molly flew into the shop and right towards me. "I know your sister."

"Oh my goodness! Emma, what were you thinking? Do you know how worried we were? Are you okay? Where have you been? How could you do something so idiotic?" Molly said breathlessly, alternately mothering and scolding me.

I glared at her. "I'm fine. Who's he?" I jerked my thumb at the guy wearing the ridiculous coat.

"Oh, that's Sherlock. He's a detective. He helped me find you." Molly cast a grateful glance in Sherlock's direction. I gagged.

"Sherlock? What kind of name is that?"

"Sherlock Holmes. I specialize in capturing delinquents such as yourself." He extended a hand, and I gleefully met it with sticky, chocolate-covered fingers.

"Emma, really?" Molly looked mortified, but I didn't care at this point. She couldn't even be bothered to find me herself, her one-and-only baby sister. She had to bring along some rubbish 'detective' instead.

"Sherlock, I'm so sorry. Let me get you a napkin or something, she knows better, she really does, I'm sure she's sorry, she didn't mean to." Molly was babbling. Molly, my academic genius, top of her classes, never-minced-words sister, was babbling.

"What's wrong with you?" I asked.

"Nothing." She flushed. "Emma, don't even try it. You're not turning this back on me. You are in big trouble, young lady, and don't think I'll forget it! Mum's already on her way up to London, so we're going to go meet her at my hall. And you have a lot of explaining to do. And why on earth did you..." She grabbed my wrist and began dragging me out the door, lecturing as we went.

Sherlock had the audacity to smirk at me as I headed towards my doom. "Good luck, Miss Hooper," said Sherlock.

"Good riddance," said I, relishing my witty response.

"Good grief," said Molly, and scolded me the whole way back.

* * *

It was pretty much the most miserable thing I could think of, sitting there waiting for Mum while Molly lectured me. I muttered something about how I thought she was here to study and not lecture, and then immediately wished I hadn't said anything. Molly just about hit the ceiling, and it's doubtful I would have survived until my mother arrived if Sherlock Holmes hadn't chosen that moment to reappear.

"Hello, Molly. Your sunglasses were left on the table at the bakery, Emma. I thought I'd return them." Sherlock handed them to Molly, which I'm sure he did just to annoy me, since they were my sunglasses.

"Thanks." I snatched them back and jammed them on my face to avoid looking at Sherlock, only to look over at Molly and realize that my sister had suddenly turned a brilliant shade of scarlet and forgotten all about lecturing me. I would have been grateful for the distraction, if a horrible realization hadn't hit me at the very moment.

Molly liked him. Molly Hooper liked Sherlock Holmes.

Sisters can read each other like that, you know. I could pick up on subtle things about Molly that other people might miss, like the shy smile she was currently giving Sherlock, or the way she was twisting her fingers around each other. But, then again, she was still tomato red, so maybe I shouldn't have given myself too much credit here. I glanced over at Sherlock. He was standing there, watching… the ceiling. Nope. Not seeing the appeal.

I digress. Molly liked the idiot, so something had to be done. Molly appeared to be working up the courage to say something to him (probably more babbling, but I'm just guessing), so I stood up abruptly. "I'm waiting outside until Mum gets here. It smells nasty in here," I said, making a beeline toward the door that led outside.

"Get back here, Emma!" Footsteps were hurrying behind me. Good. That meant she'd left Sherlock behind to chase after me. My brilliant plan had worked! Wait. Too many footsteps. Bad. Sherlock was following Molly.

Picking up speed, I burst through the front doors and around the corner of the building, only to bump into...

"Mum!" I gasped, panicked. She couldn't meet Sherlock! She might do something embarrassing like try to pay him for finding me. Or worse, invite him to dinner. "Good, you're here! Let's go!"

"Emma?" My mother managed to combine confused, happy, angry, and frazzled all together in one expression. "Where's Molly? Why are you out here?"

"Finding you. Let's go home!" I grabbed her hand and started dragging her away, but my mother jerked me to a halt.

"Young lady, you are already in enough trouble as it is, and-oh! Hello, Molly!"

I slowly relinquished my hold on my mother and turned around to see Molly hurrying in our direction, with Sherlock close behind. Molly and my mother embraced, tearing up like they hadn't seen each other in years. I stood there and considered leaving, but unfortunately, Sherlock was standing behind Molly, keeping an eagle eye on me. He'd apparently already considered what I was considering. (I think.) So I waited until Mum looked back to me and picked up the scolding where Molly had left off. She was just setting off on a fine tirade about how I was aging her before her time when Molly cleared her throat.

"What is it?" Mum looked up to Sherlock standing beside Molly. "Oh! Who's this?"

"This is Sherlock Holmes, Mum." Molly was turning red again.

"Hello," said Sherlock.

"Oh, uh, hello." Mum looked suspiciously between Molly and Sherlock. Something clicked in my brain. I hadn't considered this angle. Mum had never been happy about the boys Molly brought home. Yes, yes, maybe this was just what I needed! Unfortunately, my whole family seemed intent on betraying me that day.

"He's the one who found Emma" was all Molly had to say before my Mum turned traitor and invited Sherlock over for dinner to "thank him."

It's true what they say, you know. Dreams really do come true. Except mine was a nightmare, and it was invited to dinner.


	3. Chapter 2

Ah, family dinners. They should be synonymous with peace, relaxation and good times.

Not.

Here it was, half-an-hour until Sherlock was due to arrive. and Mum still had me slaving away in the kitchen. This dinner was a disaster waiting to happen. Since Sherlock had refused payment in return for finding me, my mother now seemed to think we owed him an enormous debt that could only be chipped away at with a scrupulously clean house and a dinner big enough for 10 people and their pet elephants. And she wasn't even making Dad help with her frenzied cleaning rush! He just got to sit around all day and read, which was completely unfair. I had important things to do, too, but did my mother care? No.

Molly was totally going bonkers, too. She came home for the weekend to get ready for dinner. The whole weekend. For dinner.

And what did her beloved baby sister get for her birthday? A card. Two weeks late.

I hid from Mum and Molly for as long as I could, but was eventually dragged into the mayhem.

I scrubbed. I washed. I tidied. I tried to cook, until I set off the smoke alarm.

It was at this point that Mum suggested a card for Sherlock. I inwardly rebelled. I was clearly too old for this type of thing! She still insisted on sitting me down with a box of pencils and told to make something nice, but when she saw a sample of my artwork for Sherlock (which may possibly have involved blood and dragons and decapitation), I was let off the hook and told to scram. Obligingly, I did as I was told, and made myself scarce.

I was in the middle of locking all the doors to the house when I heard a knock at the front door. With great cunning and stealth, I scrambled up the stairs to spy on Molly and Sherlock from the landing.

"Coming!" I heard Molly call. There was a loud commotion of banging and clattering in the kitchen. That was probably dinner. I began to reconcile myself to a meal of burnt and broken delicacies.

I was just wondering if I might have enough time to answer the door and tell Sherlock that Molly had changed her mind about the whole thing when Molly came flying down the hall. Her attempt to casually open the door was thwarted by the bolt I had so thoughtfully fastened moments before. You know, to guard against burglars and such.

"Emma!" Molly muttered. She probably forgot the bit at the end where she meant to say, "Thank you for your kindness in protecting the family from this source of danger." I mentally added it on for her.

She fumbled with the lock for a moment, before finally succeeding in opening it and letting Sherlock inside. I felt a chill when he stepped over the threshold. A sense of foreboding. Quite possibly combined with the draft that Molly was letting in because she was probably too busy smiling like an idiot to remember to close the door behind Sherlock.

The stairs weren't proving to be the best vantage point. "Hi, Sherlock." I cautiously peered around the corner, attempting to get a better view. Yes, indeed, Molly was definitely smiling like an idiot.

"Hello, Molly." Sherlock was not smiling, but the corners of his mouth appeared to be quirking slightly. I couldn't decided if this was good or bad.

"So, em, did you have a good trip, then?" Molly asked, shifting from foot to foot. I darkly wished that there had been an inconvenient accident aboard the train that prevented it from reaching all the way out here.

"Tolerable. I was unfortunately placed between a couple who was pretending to fight but wished to make up, and I endured several hours of snide comments and lovelorn looks before I finally forced the girl to switch seats with me."

"Oh? Well, did it work?" Molly's voice was so syrupy-sweet that I couldn't help rolling my eyes.

"They were kissing and I was disgusted, if that's what you mean."

"Ohhh, Sherlock! That's so sweet that you brought them back together!"

"_Oh, Sherlock, you're suuuch a sweety pie! I'd like to give you a good peck on the lips myself!" _I mouthed, trying to keep the gagging sounds in check.

Sherlock's gaze flickered in the direction of where I was hiding, and I stifled a snicker. If only they knew!

"Well, uh, I suppose you want to see my mum and dad, then?" Molly asked. "I don't know where Emma's gotten to. She was just running around here a little bit ago."

"Oh, I don't know," said Sherlock, sounding bored. "You could try checking about eight steps up and around the corner."

"Wha-" Molly's footsteps suddenly approached the stairway, and I gasped and clattered hastily up the stairs. The _nerve_! He'd known I was there the whole time!

Molly yelled something behind me about sleeping with one eye open that night, but I ignored her and ran straight for my room, slamming the door shut behind me. They could try to get me out of here all they wanted. I'd just stay in here and refuse to be social and ruin the whole visit! Served them right.

I sat for a few minutes in smug satisfaction, but eventually, I had to admit that my plan had backfired. No one was banging on my door demanding that I come help with anything. No one was yelling for me to come be polite and visit. In fact, it seemed that everyone in the house was doing their best to completely and utterly ignore me!

Thoroughly insulted and determined to make this situation right, I stormed out of my room and back down the stairs to the living room, only to be confronted by the thoroughly revolting scene of Molly and Sherlock _flirting_. They were pretending to discuss some sort of class they had together, but the way she kept glancing shyly up at him, and the way he kept smiling little half-smiles at her… Ugh. Positively sickening.

Dad was in there, pretending to read the paper and and occasionally smirking at the two of them over the top of it. He winked at me, although it looked a little bit more like a wince. Clearly the man was in pain, suffering from an overdose of Sherlock and Molly. I definitely sympathized with his feelings.

Before I could make known the depth of my wounded feelings, my dear, beloved mother called that dinner was ready, and I was caught up in the general bustle of washing hands and pulling out chairs and passing dishes. If a glass of ice water _accidentally_ got dumped in Sherlock's lap during all the commotion, well, could the person who spilled it really be blamed?

Dinner was long and slow and excruciatingly boring. I don't know who thought that it was okay to make me sit between Molly and Sherlock. All of those sidelong, lingering glances exchanged over my head… It made me want to throw up, and I intercepted as many of them as possible with death glares. Dad apparently thought it was hilarious and would give me a knowing grin every once in a while.

As soon as the Dinner of Nightmares drew to a close, I was determined to escape back to my room. But what was this? Molly and Sherlock had decided to take a walk around the neighborhood.

Decisions! The last thing I wanted to do was watch more flirting, but I couldn't let this situation get any more out of hand. I had to put a stop to this. "Oh good!" I declared loudly. "I'd love to go for an evening stroll!" Molly glared at me, Sherlock looked resigned, and Dad just started laughing again.


End file.
